Chapter 11: Familial Force

Fortuna:

Persephone let out a long, tired sigh as she slowly walked out of the ruined opera house, slightly leaning on her staff as she did so. Turns out, brute-forcing that magic lock, a lot harder than she had at first thought. Depressingly, that was seemingly starting to become a running theme with her. But, unexpected difficulties aside, she got it done. No more demons pouring out of the ground. Now…

She looked skywards. "Now only that giant eyesore to deal with, however I'm going to go about doing that."

She didn't want to say that she was worried about her chances, she was a demigod for crying out loud, but still, Nero had supposedly been subsumed/consumed (she didn't know it hadn't been explained well) or some such by this thing, and Nero was nearly as dangerous to her as Dante was. Still, it was a really big target, so she shouldn't have a hard time hitting the thing, right? But 'hitting' and 'hurting' were two very different things. A scrawny, starved peasant wretch could 'hit' her father, if he bothered to let them, but not a one of that category of people could 'hurt' him no matter how they were armed. A baby could slap a brick wall for days, and still not make any headway… etcetera.

She kept looking up, trying to study, to think. "Ah… how do I do this? How do I get Nero out of there?"

Her brain swirled as she tried to call up her father's many, many comments on 'the art of war,' because of course she had never really paid any mind to it, considering herself largely above the "trivialities" of combat. It had worked for her just swimmingly up till coming here, even part of the way through it. Trish had been a threat, but not an insurmountable one. The demons, granted only the big ones, had kept her on her toes. Nero had scared her. Dante had been the figurative straw breaking the back.

She put her left hand to her temple. "Oh, I'm getting a headache from this…"

Should she call her father? Her brother? Her nephew? She knew unquestionably that any would swarm to her aid at the asking, as had unfortunately been the case on "Middle Earth," but Void damn it, she didn't WANT to be the helpless damsel that needed her 'big, strong, male relatives' to dig her out of trouble all the time! She could blow up an entire continent if she tried, she shouldn't need to! Bjorn helping her out here had been very nice, but that was more in the vein of 'clean up this problem I can't be bothered with' rather than pulling her butt out of a fire. Acheron would never let her live it down, even if he'd been far more generous than she'd deserved with that ill-fated bet she'd made with him over their conquest-race. And her father, ugh, he'd help her with a smile on his face the whole time, on his hidden face, and never mention anything in the way of debt or obligation. He was her father, he considered it his job to look out for her, for Acheron, and Bjorn. No amount of personal failure seemed to get on his nerves, which in its own way was a little bit deprecating in and of itself. When she knew she could do no wrong, mostly, in his eyes, it only made her own self-criticism more pointed. When she felt weak, it was entirely her own doing.

She shrank, mentally and physically weary, and fell back to sit on the ruined steps, for once not caring a single whit about the dust that would sully her clothes. She dearly wanted to save Nero, which was irrefutable. But she also wanted to be the strong and independent Over-lady to stand shoulder to shoulder, metaphorically, with her blood-kin. She supposed, the ultimate question she needed to ask herself was, how much does the former mean to you? How much, really, did the latter mean to you?

Taking a long, deep breath, she groaned quietly. "That, rather makes things simple, doesn't it?" With a weary hand she reached into her bosom and withdrew a tiny magical artifact, a very simple sending stone that her father had made for her, and she raised it close to her lips. "… Daddy?"

Not even a second after the single word left her mouth did the response come. "Yes Persephone?"

She swallowed air, and at least on some level her pride, and forced the words out. "I, I need some help…"

There wasn't even a verbal response. Only a dark gateway tearing a hole in reality not two meters from her. She wasn't really surprised, given that she was her father's only daughter, but that he could tell so quickly right where she was… wait, it was the sending stone wasn't it? Well, on that account at least she didn't have anything to feel bad about.

She was not surprised when her father's imposingly cut figure strode through with all the inherent grandeur her sire was due, not that he really had to try. She was, on the other hand, surprised when Acheron, and then Bjorn came through hot on her father's heels. So much for keeping this just a matter between father and daughter…

Acheron, of course, was the first to open his big mouth. "Hey there, little sis, what's eating you? You look like you've got your own personal storm cloud raining on you."

Her mood crumbled still further. "Nice to see you too…"

Bjorn chimed in immediately. "Wuz wrong Auntie? Ooh iz makin you sad?"

Her father was next, casting a half-second glance up at Bjorn before speaking. "As much as I hate to echo, my sentiments are the same. What can we do, you needed only to ask."

Melancholy welled up within her. "Why, so you can just swoop in to save me, again?"

A very long moment of silence fell, and in such time she very much felt like breaking down and outright crying from the shame she was feeling. Effectively begging for help from her father was bad enough, as he would never in a trillion years treat the aid as a debt to be paid. But now, neither would Acheron. He'd let her off the hook for that stupid bet. Bjorn? He was just happy to have something to fight. She very much doubted the concept of 'debt' had any meaning to him at all. So here she was, failing, again. And being bailed out of her own mess by her family, again. Without any repercussions.

Her self-abuse continued. "I mean, not like I can get anything done without it, right? Every time I start something, I screw it up. I fail at everything next to you three. I-"

So suddenly her brain couldn't decide if it was by teleportation, her head was suddenly pressed against her father's cuirass with a small, surprised 'yelp' on her part. As much as she was taken off guard by the surprise hug, she was more surprised that, on some small level, she immediately felt a little better. It probably had something to do with the fact that her father's body was always warm, sometimes unbearably so.

One of her father's hands met the back of her head, and slowly started stroking her hair. "Persephone, I say this as your father, you need to stop judging yourself so harshly. You can't force greatness." After about three seconds her father drew slightly away, his hands on both of her shoulders. "Need I remind you that I was once a completely mortal man? A man no more remarkable than any of the countless billions both you and I stride over like so much dust. That's how far I had to come to be where I am, over more years than you've been alive. And you have every bit the potential to be my equal."

She felt like this kind of pep-talk was borderline cliché, but coming from her father she really couldn't help but feel just a little bit vindicated. Maybe he just had a way with words. It, did however pick at something in the back of her mind. Demi-goddess or not, she was human too. And it was indicative of the human condition that you were going to make mistakes, she was going to make mistakes. Did that help her right now, not very much, but, it did quite a bit to shred that melancholy darkening her mind.

Bjorn's voice nudged in, in the same way that an elephant 'nudged' through a wall, with a low-key twinge of excitement in his voice. "Iz wez uggin?"

There was a pause, one in which her father shot a millisecond glance over his shoulder to her gigantic, muscle-slab of a nephew, before looking back to her. Erasmus was silent, but there was a quiet question hanging in his gaze. Leave it to him to leave it up to her.

In spite of the situation, her mood, and the banal silliness of the question, she couldn't help but crack a tiny smile and speak. "Ok…"

Bjorn let out a single-note sound of glee and dropped to one knee before spreading his long arms wide. For Bjorn, the resulting embrace was comparatively gentle. But, given her nephew's overwhelming strength, it was still a tight, mildly uncomfortable situation given how she was being compacted against her father's unyielding carapace of armor, plus spikes, and that was an uncomfortable situation significantly more so factoring her expansive bust into the equation. Fortunately for her, her father was obviously cognizant of this and made obvious efforts to keep the spines of his armor well away from her flesh. The look in Erasmus's eyes was one of quiet bemusement, which buffered her mood a little bit by itself.

Her gaze drifted to Acheron, and her brother commented as their eyes met. "Yeah, I think I'm going to bow out of that saccharine display. I'm here, I'm going to help, that's my stance."

Bjorn, for his part, completely ignored the line, if he even heard it. Funny thing, it was really, REALLY hard to tell what was going through her nephew's head at any one point. And sometimes hard to understand what he was saying. And sometimes hard to stop him from smashing things or perforating them to excess. And causing massive collateral damage… It was just really hard to deal with him sometimes.

Her father, allowing the length of five seconds to pass, gently cleared his throat. "Ahem, Bjorn, it would be wise of us to move on, now. No length of embracing will deal with what we were called here to assist with, I'm sure." Bjorn, with obvious reluctance, released the both of them and Erasmus turned his attention back to her. "Now, am I to assume correctly that the large, entity, floating above this city is the source of your problems?"

Chewing her lower lip, as that assumption didn't quite cover the whole breadth of the situation, she answered. "Well, yes, mostly."

With an authoritative nod her father spoke. "Say no more." Erasmus turned to her brother and nephew. "I think a simple three-pronged assault will do the trick nicely, yes? You and I should draw its ire given our mobility, and Persephone can assist Bjorn in making a direct assault on its chest or head. If nothing else, Bjorn's might should crush a significant portion-"

Alarmed by the potential risk to Nero's health such a straightforward assault could yield, she sharply interrupted. "Wait!" Put on the spot by the immediate gaze of all three of her male relatives, she found herself forced to explain her outburst. "Ah, well, about just, you know, smashing the thing into dust, ah, we, we really can't do that." She hesitated, embarrassed to admit this aloud to someone else, especially her father, brother, and nephew all at once. "I, ah, well…" Opting to figuratively rip the bandage off she spat the words out. "…Nero's somewhere inside that thing, so, I need to get in there and rescue him."

The sudden silence was deafening. Absolute, total silence, not even the wind dared stir. Not her brother, not her nephew, and not her father stirred in the slightest either. They just, silently, enigmatically, stared at her.

After an interminably long period, her father was the first. "Nero." The word was more statement than question. "A boy?"

Swallowing air, hard, and feeling her face start to burn, she nodded slowly, incapable of currently forming words. She couldn't say she hadn't been expecting such a reaction, after all, Erasmus frequently called her, even if it were somewhat patronizing, his 'precious little princess.' It was of course his prerogative, as her father, but at this moment she couldn't help but feel more than a little bit of disquieting worry for Nero's safety. His safety AFTER she rescued him. Why had she not considered that? Her father was the GOD of EVIL. What unholy gauntlet of hellish expectations would Nero have to suffer through?

Her father, vocally and visually enigmatic, turned his gaze back to Bjorn and Acheron. "Well, that should only alter the plan slightly." His eyes flicked skyward momentarily. "I believe that gem in the center of its chest is something of a plug. We can smash that, and get Persephone inside."

Acheron spoke up. "And, you can tell that from here?"

Erasmus answered. "It's the way the light hits and refracts through it. So yes, I can." Her father turned to her. "Does this satisfy? I imagine plunging through that statue's innards should be no challenge for you, yes?"

Unsettled, but for different reasons as opposed to pre-combat jitters, she nodded. "I can deal with that." She then, mostly on an internal whim, gently whistled, calling Deva to her. "Time to go." She said, as the angelic figure alighted next to her.

Acheron interjected. "Whoa, hold up. Who's this gorgeous babe?"

In an instant, her mental woes were swept away on a tide of explosive irritation. "This is Deva, I made her."

Acheron shot her a one-second glance before scoffing, loudly. "Seriously? Pah hah, wow…" Her older brother very obviously gave her servant a very intense leering. "… I'm guessing, what, about a cup size smaller than you? Geeze…"

Her father cut in, for once letting his annoyance be heard. "Is now truly the time for this, Acheron?"

Acheron shot back with a dramatic shrug. "Hey, I'm just standing here wondering if the cute girl was available. Proportionately, she's got bigger tits than any of my girls. It'd be a novel experience."

Her voice came out cold. "Deva is mine. So BACK OFF." Still completely nonplussed, Acheron only shrugged once more, so she continued. "CAN we PLEASE get on with this?"

Flatly, her father concurred. "Yes, let's."

Without preamble or ceremony, her father reached back and took one of Bjorn's mitts in his hand, before, with only a tiny grunt, hurling Bjorn bodily through the air like a missile towards the Savior. Bjorn, for his part, only cackled like a madman while his flailing, trailing limbs clipped roofs and took chunks out of them. Audibly sighing, her father leapt after the impromptu projectile, with infinitely more grace and infinitely less collateral damage.

Acheron gave her a flippant salute. "Better get moving sister, your boy-toy won't save himself."

Before she could shout 'he's not my boy toy!' Acheron more or less imitated their father's leaping feat, with liberal usage of his void portals. And while floating between the holes in reality, Acheron kept shooting her patronizing, aggravating looks while posing as if he were the most relaxed person in all the worlds.

She muttered to herself, still furious. "He is NOT my boy-toy. I WANT him to be my boyfriend…" She paused, realizing something, which prompted further mumbling. "That's… the first time I've actually said that, I think." She shook her head, trying to focus. "Not important right now." She made the purposeful gesture. "Deva, let's go."

Dutifully, her servant complied immediately and scooped her up before taking to the air. While Deva wasn't even close to as fast as the leaping of her father, Acheron's near-instantaneous teleportation, or Bjorn's 'assisted' flight, her servant was in fact truly flying. Rendering them both free of gravity's clutches. None of her relations could say that, which was a rather nice note, now that she thought about it.

Acheron's voice broke in again from above. "Princess carry, cute, very cute. I'll bet you wish that was Nero right now, eh?"

Now that her brother brought it up, that image very much DID flash through her mind, but she bit back anyways. "Acheron, please shut up."

The response was swift. "Well, since you finally asked nicely…"

Deva's flight brought her to a large, floating chunk of the city that just so happened to be roughly level with the Savior's abdomen, and at just the right time to hear a distorted, old man's voice start to cry out 'there are more of-' before immediately getting silenced by a thunderous gunshot, her father's if she were to guess just from the sound. Clanging metal alone followed though, not squelching flesh. And the voice sounded familiar somewhat, but she couldn't place it.

Deva alit on the floating platform next to her male relatives, Bjorn awkwardly standing in a crater made by his unceremonious ascent, as the Savior started to grind into motion. Acheron was, again, the one to speak. "So, anyone here know what exactly to expect from the big, stone man? Barring punching and kicking I mean."

She started to answer, mildly vexed at the realization she hadn't thought to ask anything of that nature before now. "No, but-"

Ahead, with a shocking amount of speed for its size, the Savior's right foot swung up well above its head, heel poised for an obvious kick at the four of them.

Her father barked the order, voice betraying not the slightest whit of alarm. "Scatter."

Acheron, her father, and Deva, which by extension included her, mobilized out of the way with time to spare. Bjorn, did not. As she looked back the big oaf was instead bracing himself, arms stretched above him in preparation. Her nephew's constitution aside, did he really think the platform he was standing on would survive the impact of something so large, even though Bjorn's body? Inertia didn't work like that. Momentum didn't work like that. Force didn't work like that…

The Savior's heel dropped, with the same startling speed, and its path changed on the way down to specifically aim for Bjorn, presumably because the big lug was a stationary target. The impact came. Dust, whether from the Savior itself or thrown up from the floating rock, filled the immediate spatial area. And when it cleared… Bjorn was exactly where he had been. The platform wasn't even cracked.

Her mouth fell into a firm line, mental processes filling with bitter thoughts. "Of course, rewrite all the laws of physics at will. Do everything magic is supposed to do, without a shred of talent for it."

Acheron's laugh, apparently he'd vacated the attack path in the same direction as her, assaulted her ears. "Don't think too much about it, your head will just start to hurt. Trust me. I've already tried."

Her flat rebuke was immediate. "I figured that'd just be your lacking brain overworking itself."

As she and Acheron circled further out of their original position the Savior pulled its foot back, switching its assault to one clenched fist. That house-sized blow fell, and Bjorn, instead of catching it, met it with a punch of his own. There was a sound like a thunderclap, and the giant statue recoiled as a person would from touching boiling water. Mid-flinch there was a second sound, one of steel on stone, and a shower of angry red sparks mixed with shattered blue 'glass' as her father struck the back of the hand that Bjorn had just punched. Fittingly, given that Erasmus had just caused it real harm, supposedly, the Savior pivoted on the spot to turn its aggression against the God of Evil.

Bjorn bellowed, loud enough to mildly hurt her ears even from her respectable distance. "EY! Don you ignor me ya ovagrown rok!"

The staccato of fully-automatic gunfire, again at uncomfortable levels of volume, showed quite clearly Bjorn's indignation at not being the center of the Savior's attention as minor explosions stitched across the entire flank of the statue. The entire, street-sized, side of it.

Acheron's bemused voice cut in. "Does a dad proud, that kid. Look at him go."

As she turned to make a further comment she was privy to witnessing an angelic knight, akin to one of her personal thralls back at Castle Fortuna, fly out of the ether and drive its lance into Acheron's shoulder. Or, at least it tried to. Acheron may have doffed heavy, arcanium plate for arcanium-weave cloth, but the blow was still stopped cold. More pressing was that the blow had landed at all, given Acheron's penchant for simply ghosting though all attacks thrown at him like they were flies to a tank.

Her brother's reaction was swift, grabbing the lance and turning to face his attacker. "Oh ho, cheater! Actually tagged me! Let's see how far it gets you, you and all your mates!"

A gunshot, square in the face, annihilated the angelic knight. But true to Acheron's words, an entire swarm was advancing on them. She could have, she supposed, tried to bring them all under her control, given their near-mindless nature, just like she'd done at her castle. But, well, Acheron was hurling himself straight into that swarm both guns blazing. Even if she could turn one or two she doubted Acheron would have the insight to recognize that she'd done so, and would likely eliminate them before they could do much of anything. Still, her brother would do an excellent job of keeping them occupied.

That, of course, left her with a question. How was she going to contribute? Her father and Bjorn were engaging the Savior, dragging its attention back and forth between them as they "hurt" it. Acheron was slaughtering the invading demon-angels as fast as they could show up. What was she going to do? The end goal of this engagement was to get her inside the Savior, through the gem on its chest. So, she supposed she could focus her efforts on shattering that?

She gestured back towards the two-on-one melee between her father, nephew, and the Savior. "That way, Deva. Get me in front of it."

Yes, perhaps getting out in front of the Savior could be risky. But, between a God and a brute of Bjorn's caliber, what threat would she pose? At least, until she actually did something to the chest-gem, that might get its attention. Deva flew her wide around the engagement, well beyond the pivoting reach of the Savior's flailing attacks. And she arrived at the general point she'd gestured to just as her father leapt from the ring of floating debris towards the Savior's bowed head to deliver another ear-grating, crashing strike to the statue's head, shattering the gem there with a visually satisfying display. Surprisingly, or perhaps not considering the statue had just taken a "wound," the Savior started backing away, leaning forward.

She spoke her confusion. "What is it doing…"

The Savior's "halo," the one floating behind it, began to gather energy, and 'what it was doing' became rather abundantly clear. It was doing what she'd done to clear a swathe of the forest, with considerably less of a wind-up. Naturally she had Deva MOVE in a straight line out of the imagined effect area, cutting her escape so close that she heard Deva yelp from the sudden heat of the giant sod-off laser.

She muttered to herself. "Let's not let it do that again."

Putting action to her words, she started charging her own version, focusing and tightening the beam that would result down to just the size of that gem in the Savior's chest. She also set a termination point, as she didn't want to vaporize Nero if he happened to be right behind the chest, for some reason. She figured he'd be in the head, or something. But it paid to hedge her bets on this.

The Savior was attacking her father and nephew again, apparently learning enough from before to engage from range. With great swipes of its hands car-sized bursts of magic in groups of three zipped after Erasmus and Bjorn. The former either evaded them or outright cut through them with surgical swings of Soul Edge. The latter, of course, ate each hit without so much as flinching, still bellowing, and still peppering the entire Savior with bullets. Somehow even managing to hit the statue's feet, when not even remotely aiming in that direction. Then again, this was Bjorn, he didn't "aim," seemingly ever.

For her part though. "Give me Nero back you stupid piece of-" She was actually going to curse, for once. But a little voice in the back of her head reminded her that her father was here, and she didn't want to disappoint him like that. Regardless, her spell flew true, and, the Savior acted like she hadn't even hit it. Curious. But, there was an open hole in its chest, and that's what she had been looking for.

Her father's voice reached her. "Go, Persephone. For what it's worth, we'll keep it busy while you're inside. If you still have designs for this world, it won't suffer much in the time it takes for you to save… Nero."

She noted both the slightest of hesitations and shift in vocal tone when her father mentioned Nero, though she hadn't the slightest of ideas what it overall meant. Being the first time she'd expressed interest in a boy and all…

Anyway, heeding her father's words she directed Deva fly towards the opening. Partway there the Savior finally seemed to do something specifically towards her, that being it raised its fist and started to swing. Now of course she would have ordered Deva to get out of the way, but before she could, none other than Erasmus flew into view and parried the incoming punch, with his fist. Acheron appeared moments later, dragging their father through a portal and presumably back to a stable position.

She pursed her lips momentarily, a slight feeling of invincibility bubbling up inside her. Barring the fact that she felt more than a little bad that she had to be 'saved,' goodness they were making the Savior look like a joke. And her contribution so far had been minimal, considering her self-imposed limitation to avoid killing Nero. If she'd actually been trying to destroy the Savior, heck, same across the board really, the stupid thing would be a pile of pulverized dust by now. It was with that budding confidence she flew inside the statue… to find, to her significant disgust, that the interior was just as fleshy and disgusting as the innards of a human body. Point positive, she was standing right in front of a giant, throbbing, slimy blue heart.

The sound came out of her the moment Deva set her down on the spongy floor. "Ewww…" Despite being alone, minus Deva, her almost involuntary next words still brought her a small measure of internal shame. "Let's find Nero as fast as possible, I don't want to be here any longer than I have to." An immediate, more pragmatic line of thought, moved in. "No chance I'm searching through all of this by hand…"

At first, the thought crossed her mind of searching for Nero by trying to sense demonic energies. After all, that arm of Nero's was undoubtedly demonic. But, then again, everything around her looked demonic. This naturally brought her to the other conclusion, she'd try to sense people, human, etc. The better part was that such a seeking spell was beyond simple. She'd learned to do so early, so she could cheat at hide and seek. And… really?

She pointedly stared at the pulsing heart before her. "Really? Right there?"

She shouldn't be complaining, really. But, it was just a little bit anticlimactic, wasn't it? Go through the bother of getting in here, and Nero was literally right in front of her? Nevertheless, she had a purpose to carry out. And she gently slid the blade at the base of her staff into the blue meat before starting to drag it downwards. But, with a suddenness that made her shriek involuntarily, a particular demon arm lashed out of the small hole she'd cut and grabbed ahold of her staff.

Nero, violently dragging himself out by hauling her towards him, snarled at her. "The HELL are you doing here?"

Digging her heels in, quite literally, she responded, trying desperately to keep any 'bitch' out of her voice. "Saving your life!"

Nero's death-glare didn't buckle even the slightest. "After you messed with my head? Fat chance I'm going to buy-"

She screeched. "I'M SORRY!" Whether by volume, or emphatic quality, Nero's hateful visage wavered, just a little bit. And she poured her feelings out. "I'm sorry. For everything. I'm sorry for modifying your memory. I'm sorry for, Kyrie. But, please, please understand that was an accident." She let go of her staff, and silently ordered Deva to not shoot Nero in the head. "I did not know she was still there. Everyone else ran, and, well, that giant sword would have crushed me just as it did to her. Was I supposed to just let that happen?" She paused, gulping down the boiling anxiety. "And, back to your memory. Yes, at first it was just, more or less, me trying to protect myself from you. Admit it, you wouldn't have listened to anything I had to say no matter how much I said it. You were out for blood. But anyway, then, you took that hit for me. You were annoying, difficult, and, really, really rude sometimes but…"

Nero's gaze turned blank. "If you say that you started to like me…"

Indignantly, she responded. "Well, I DID." Her confession out, she looked for a reaction, and the reaction she saw made her heart sink. "Fine… I guess, it was too much to hope for…"

Dejected, she turned around on the spot and started to walk back towards the hole in the Savior's chest. At the moment, she didn't even care if Nero broke out and shot her in the back.

The Savior:

Nero shook himself off, wiping demonic sludge from his coat with short, sharp motions, still fuming inside over the events of the last few minutes. Fucking really, the witch had a crush on him? The sheer incomprehensible nerve that required…

He grit his teeth, snarling at the air. "As soon as I get out of here, and take down Sanctus, I'm going to give that bitch exactly what she deserves."

From out of nowhere, behind him, a sudden, bone-chillingly cold voice intruded upon his intense brooding. "And who do you think you are calling a 'bitch?"

Surprised, he reached for the Blue Rose as he turned, but he wasn't fast enough. Before he could even make a sound a large, armored mitt had found itself in a vice grip around both his throat and his reaching gun-hand, lifted him into the air, and slammed him bodily back against the very 'heart' he'd just crawled out of. The figure attached to those hands was huge, easily eight-plus feet tall, almost entirely jet-black to the point it was difficult to make out small details, and, most pressingly, crushing the life out of him. The sight of a hellishly red blade, bigger than he was tall, peeking over the figure's shoulder and past their waist put little doubt in his mind about this entity's origin.

The only colored detail he could see, the blood-red eyes staring into his soul and blazing with hate, narrowed to slits. "I don't believe you've answered me yet, boy."

Summoning a spark of defiance, difficult though that was, he mustered the will to mouth off. "And what does that matter to you, mister tall dark and compensating?"

He was rewarded with a squeeze to the neck that brought dark spots to his vision, and he felt blood dampening his coat. "You think you're clever, defaulting to that? Regardless, do not try and change the subject, Nero."

The 'demon' speaking his name got his attention. "What, how do you…"

He figured it wasn't impossible that his name had been passed around the demon world, given his time serving the Order. It'd happened to Dante, so, why not him? But to hear it firsthand was something different.

His throat was crushed, again. "That should become apparent." There was an impact, a horrendous squelching and crunching of bone, and he felt a hand moving around in his chest cavity. "You are partial to your heart, boy, yes? It would seem only fitting that after my daughter poured her heart out to you, and you reject her over events beyond her control, that I should take yours for the wound you've dealt her." Another 'squelch,' a compression, and a shock of extreme agony would have caused him to scream, but the grip on his neck was too tight. "But I do not wish for this. So, this is what is going to happen. I am going to drag you down to Persephone, stating that I simply noted she left her staff behind, and happened upon you. You will explain to her however you think you can make it sound convincing, that you have had a change of heart, and will consent to 'date' Persephone." The man's voice became even more venomous, how he did not quite understand. "I will not tolerate my daughter's first crush to be a wound to poison her emotional life. So, if you are as lacking as I expect you are, Persephone will quickly lose interest in you once whatever delusions her young mind has conjured of you are dispelled. After that, and only after that, I will allow you to survive your encounter with our family."

With a blood-curdling 'shlorp,' Persephone's father withdrew their fist from his rib cage, leaving him to crumple to the slimy floor. But before he could start grasping for his entrails as they started spilling out, a low, muted blink of blue light went off. That light flowed into his body, mending his punctured flesh almost as quickly as it had been damaged.

Again, before he could do anything, Persephone's father picked him up, by the scruff of his neck this time. "Let us be on our way now."

Hoisted like a cat, and feeling rather like he shouldn't be complaining at this point, he allowed himself to suffer the humiliating traversal. He was carried straight to the same hole Persephone left through.

There was a low scuff as his captor's boot touched the edge, the threshold of the Savior's body. "Brace yourself, boy."

Before he could inquire why, he was hurled skyward with a motion far too small to net such speed. He tumbled, flipped, and spun as he flailed, trying to right himself. And he accomplished this just in time to look down, and watch Persephone's father swing that red blade, once. That one swing was enough to split the Savior in half, vertically, and send a shockwave off towards the horizon. If his guts hadn't been sinking from the height, it would have plummeted just from that sight. Getting the drop on him and impaling him with a hand could be waved away with 'he got surprised.' That kind of display of raw power? Not a bit. And he'd pissed this guy off.

Keeping his shaken screaming internal, he fell towards the earth. He would have thrown his gaze around, looking for something to drag himself towards with his Devil Arm, if he hadn't been snatched by the same man who'd thrown him, and then falling significantly slower than anyone that big had a right to. Below, rather conspicuously, he could pick out Persephone in the center of the fountain square.

Well, his lizard brain chimed in, if he was going to be forced into dating the bitch… the singular, crystalized image in his mind of Persephone, naked, flashed into his mind.

He was pulled closer to Persephone's father, who whispered to him in a voice so venomous and hateful he felt physically ill instantly. "Just so you don't get any funny ideas, if I get even the slightest of inklings that you pressure my daughter into anything 'intimate,' your heart won't be the first thing I rip out."

Below, surrounding the woman he was getting forced upon, two additional figures stood. As he fell closer, they looked skyward, eyes fixating on him with murderous, vicious intent. In contrast, Persephone looked up, moments after the other two did, and her expression brightened.

He swallowed, hard, silently praying. 'Help me.'

Author's Note: Good god I'm finally done. If it feels rushed, yes, I can hardly deny that. Additionally, this is where I'm going to say that this "Series" is being put on an indefinite hiatus for the foreseeable future. My reach, far, far exceeded my grasp when I started and envisioned this 50+ story epic.

I will continue to write, just, not on this anymore. Ugh. I deeply, truly thank those of you that stuck around to see the end, even when it seemed it would never come.